


Old World Soldier

by flourhurricane



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, beginning of a relationship, character backstory, friendship before romantic ship, in-game events, slight canonical divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourhurricane/pseuds/flourhurricane
Summary: “Don’t really have a home... not anymore.” Knowing very little about the civilian who saved his and his recon team’s lives, Danse asks Claire about her past. Takes place after Call to Arms, but before Jewel of the Commonwealth is completed. Written for Fallout Week.





	Old World Soldier

Danse knew there was something unique about his new civilian contact. During their mission inside ArcJet Systems, Claire Lockhart followed orders and performed like an experienced soldier. But the Commonwealth lacked a military presence. There were the Minutemen but they were an inefficient, ragtag group without discipline or honor, and they had disbanded months ago.

Perhaps Claire came from the west and was a former NCR soldier. Her accent wasn’t native to the Capital Wasteland or the Commonwealth, or any settlements in-between. She spoke in a down-to-earth manner, with a charming drawl, and Danse was surprised by how much he enjoyed listening to her talk. He even found it amusing when Claire argued with Rhys: the madder she became, the more she enunciated her words.

“If you really don’t any more of my help, I can just leave.”

Danse glanced up from his weathered copy of _Riders of the Purple Sage_ as Claire and Rhys entered the police station, their hair and coats dusted with late November snow. Her dog with the peculiar name greeted her at the door, his tail wagging madly. Her friend with the sunglasses and pompadour wig remained seated at the corner table, playing a video game on her Pip-Boy. Haylen was at the terminal, writing her daily report. Danse was almost certain he heard her chuckle under her breath.

“Look, civilian,” Rhys fumed. “You may have helped Top recover that transmitter, but that doesn’t make you qualified to boss me around.”

“ _Boss_ you around?” Claire and Dogmeat continued to follow Rhys, hindering him from starting his lookout duties. “I wasn’t __bossing__ you around,” Claire insisted. “All I did was offer to split up the night shifts. Y’all could get an extra hour of sleep. I don’t mind--”

“You’re not a Brotherhood soldier.”

“That didn’t seem to matter when I killed all them feral ghouls.”

Rhys turned around and glowered down at Claire. “Didn’t you hear me the first time, civilian? I don’t __want__ your help!”

Dogmeat growled at Rhys for raising his voice, placed himself in front of Claire, and bared his yellowed teeth. Danse watched as Rhys stepped back, but he could tell the Knight was too aggrieved to walk away.

Danse dropped his book onto the front desk and rose from his chair. “Rhys, stand down,” he ordered.

Rhys switched his attention to his commanding officer. For a second, his anger simmered beneath his skin, reddening his face. (Or perhaps it was embarrassment. Everyone was now staring at him.) Then he complied and backed further away from Claire. Dogmeat’s stance relaxed. He slid down to the floor, but kept one paw on his mistress’ boot.

Danse continued, “Ms. Lockhart and her companion were generous enough to bring the food and medical supplies we desperately needed. If she wants to keep watch in exchange for boarding with us until the weather clears, then I give her permission to do so. Do you understand me, Knight?”

“Yes, sir,” Rhys answered through gritted teeth.

“Good. Your orders are to keep watch for the next two hours. Once you have completed your shift, come seek me and I’ll take over. Make sure to keep warm.”

Rhys curtly nodded and saluted Danse. He strode to the open office area, grabbed his laser rifle and a gray knitted cap from one of the desks, and went back outside. The door banged against its frame as he slammed it shut.

“... Well,” said Haylen, “maybe the snow’ll cool him off.”

Two smothered laughs came from Claire and Deacon.

Danse walked around the desk and approached Claire. “Ms. Lockhart.”

Claire’s smirk softened as she looked at him. “I keep telling you, Danse: call me Claire,” she said. “All this formality may be your thing, but it ain’t mine.”

“ _ _Ms. Lockhart__ ,” Danse repeated. He pretended not to notice Claire rolling her eyes and went on to say, “If you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you in private.”

 

\------

 

“Somebody’s in trouble,” Deacon sang.

Claire snorted. “Probably.” She remained standing next to the corner table and watched Danse disappear into one of the back rooms. Lights were turned on and flickered before pooling into the dark office area. If she strained her good ear, she could make out the sound of a table being pushed along the floor.

Finished with her report, Haylen leaned back into her chair and cracked her knuckles. “You’re not in trouble,” she assured Claire. “Danse mentioned he wanted to talk to you before you and Rhys came inside.”

“Did he say anything else?” Claire asked.

“Nope. But with all the help you’ve given us, maybe Danse wants to know if there’s a way he can repay you.”

Claire looked down at the laser rifle still in her hand. It was the same rifle Danse gave her after they acquired the transmitter. The way it vibrated against her arm when she switched it on. Its classic ozone smell when fired. It brought back memories of her days in basic training. Challenging times, but good ones.

 _ _Maybe I ought’a tell him that__ , Claire thought. She propped the rifle against the way, and at that moment, Danse called out her name. She reached over and the tapped her Pip-Boy’s screen, and grinned as Deacon pushed her arm away.

“Hope you haven’t beaten all my high scores.”

“Just a few of ‘em,” Deacon replied.

Claire knew what that meant: an entire score list with initials spelling the word “ass.”

Dogmeat plopped down beside Deacon’s chair, who started rubbing the mutt’s back with the bottom of his shoe. Claire retied her damp, ginger hair into a new bun as she walked into what used to be the police station’s interrogation room. It was sparsely furnished, with an elongated table, two metal chairs, and random junk scattered on the floor. Danse sat down and gestured to the chair across from him.

“Ms. Lockhart,” he began once Claire was seated, “I want to begin by saying my team and I do appreciate the assistance you’ve given us these past two weeks.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak but closed it when Danse straightened his posture, making himself appear even taller, and folded his arms across his chest. Even without his power armor, Danse was an imposing figure. (Handsome, yes, but still imposing.)

“However, he continued, “I think it’s time you were more forthright with us.”

Claire blinked, confused. “Forthright?”

“Yes.” Danse remained stern but there were undertones of warmth in the next words he spoke. “I don’t wish to insult you, but my team’s safety is my responsibility and I need to be certain no harm will come to them. That’s difficult to do when we’ve invited you into our outpost -- given you and your companions shelter -- and we know next to nothing about you.”

A twist of guilt squeezed Claire’s chest. She had read Danse’s terminal entries last night, when her insomnia and the blizzard kept her from sleeping. Recon Team Gladius had arrived in the Commonwealth last January. Since then, they had lost over half of their teammates. Knight Keane was the most recent casualty, killed by the feral ghouls that nearly took over the outpost. Of course Danse would be protective of Rhys and Haylen. They were all he had left.

“What would you like to know?” Claire asked.

“For starters, you could tell me where you’re from.”

 _That_ was the last thing Claire wanted to talk about. Aside from Codsworth, the only people who knew about her 210 years spent frozen inside Vault 111 were Deacon, Preston, and the new residents of Sanctuary. Danse wouldn’t be placated with the usual answer she gave settlers during her travels.

_"Where am I from? Oh, I’m new to the area. Used to live in this BIG ol’ settlement far south from here. We called it Texas.”_

No, Danse deserved more than a witty half-truth.

“Alright,” Claire agreed. “But I gotta warn you: we could be sitting here for a spell.”

She began with the day the bombs fell. A banquet at the veteran’s hall was scheduled for that evening to honor the female soldiers who served in the Battle of Anchorage. Claire was one of those woman and she had been asked to be the guest speaker. Her husband Nate took the day off from work and her younger brother Floyd came home from college. It was the first time he’d been home since the summer.

“Nate and I were checking on our son Sean. He was only three months old at the time. Codsworth was washing the dishes and Floyd was watching TV, and… And suddenly, we hear Codsworth calling to us to come into the living room.”

The news anchor reported of nuclear detonations in Pennsylvania and New York. Claire remembered staring at Floyd and wondering what would’ve happened if he’d taken the morning train. The television station then lost its signal. Sirens blared. Military vehicles took over the roads. Everyone in the neighborhood panicked and rushed to the vault. There was little time for her family to say goodbye to Codsworth before they fled as well.

Slowly, her voice grew doleful. “Only a handful of families in Sanctuary Hills signed up for the vault program. Even the ones that did, like us, we didn’t really think the world was gonna end. Until the end was a breath away.”

Claire kept some details to herself. Like the sight of the mushroom cloud billowing into the stratosphere and feeling the heat emanating from the blast. The sound of gears and pulleys screeching as the platform lowered “the lucky ones” into the vault. Sean crying. Nate hunching his body to protect their baby from flying dust and debris. Claire gripping onto Nate’s shirt. Floyd clutching her hand, fearful, for perhaps the first time since he was a little boy. And when they believed they were protected by Vault 111, some of their neighbors began weeping for loved ones left to die above ground.

Claire did, however, tell Danse about how she kissed Sean’s forehead and told him everything would be okay. That she would be right back. She told him how Nate’s smile calmed her nerves. How Floyd didn’t want to step inside his “decontamination” pod because of his claustrophobia… and how she had to _convince him_ to follow the Overseer’s request.

As she reached the end of her confession, Claire was stoic. She’d had a lifetime of experience before the Great War of suppressing her emotions. But there was a small crack in her voice when she talked about _them_. The man and the woman. She could still hear the BANG from the man’s revolver and Sean wailing as the woman took him from Nate’s arms. She could still see Nate’s body go limp and fall back into his cryo pod, and the man’s long, irritated scar as he stared directly at her. The last thing Claire remembered was trying to claw and kick her way out of her pod, so she could kill that man with her bare hands.

“When I was finally released, the man and the woman were gone. Nate was dead. Floyd’s pod was empty. I checked every room for some kind of sign of him, but I think maybe they kidnapped him, too. Everyone else… all the people I used to know… they were all dead.”

Silence unfolded. Danse no longer behaved like the protective leader accessing a possible threat. Instead, he was leaning with his elbows on the table, riveted by Claire’s story. Riveted and appalled.

When Claire looked up, she noticed Haylen and Rhys were standing in the doorway. Haylen’s crestfallen face told Claire she’d heard at least most of her story. Even Rhys appeared sympathetic. When Claire’s eyes met his, he immediately stared down at the floor.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Uh, sir.”

Danse looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“The snow’s picking up again. Anything dumb enough to be out in this weather for long is going to freeze to death.”

“Then we’ll keep watch inside the station tonight. You and Haylen barricade all the exits. We can’t chance any raiders or ferals attacking for a warm place to stay.”

“Yes, sir,” said Haylen. She threw Claire an apologetic smile and left with Rhys.

There was another, more awkward silence between Danse and Claire, until Danse stood up and exited the interrogation room. Claire wondered if the conversation was over or if she was supposed to follow him, but he quickly returned with two bottles of ice cold beer. It was the same beer she gave the recon team yesterday. A treat hidden among their food supplies. Someone must’ve packed them in snow, inside the pre-war ice machine.

“Perhaps I should’ve asked if you drink,” said Danse.

“Oh, I drink,” Claire admitted. “More than I ought to sometimes.”

Danse let out a low chuckle, a sound Claire had never heard from him. It was unexpectedly soothing. _Mental note to self_ , she thought: _make him laugh again soon_.

Danse sat down, opened the longneck bottles, and handed one to Claire. They each took a long swig. Claire savored the malty flavor as it rested on her tongue. It wasn’t a Guinness but it was still the best damn thing she’d tasted since escaping the vault.

“Ms. Lockhart, I’d like to give you my condolences,” said Danse, “but I think what you need more is assistance. I’d like you to reconsider my offer. There’s still a place for you in the Brotherhood, if you choose to accept it.”

Claire set her beer down. “I appreciate it,” she said. “But I already told you, Danse. I don’t think I’d be a good fit.”

“You said you were a soldier, correct?”

“I _was_ , yeah. I was also a lawyer. The army discharged me after I was wounded by a spider mine. Lost most of my hearing in my left ear.”

“And that hasn’t damper your ability to eliminate hostile targets. If I spoke to Elder Maxson on your behalf, I’m confident he’d grant you the rank of Knight. Most initiates train for years before earning an officer’s rank.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to those initiates.”

“The honor would still be well-deserved.”

Danse pushed his beer aside and leaned closer, his elbows back on the table. He could tell Claire was a woman with a determination nurtured by a strong, stubborn soul. It was another reason why he gave her and her company the benefit of a doubt. He wanted to help, repay her for everything she had done. But if he wasn’t careful, Claire would never accept his help.

“... Claire.”

She tilted her head and stared at him, one eyebrow arched, a wry smirk upon her lips. “Oh, so it’s Claire now, huh? You must really want me.”

“I know you’re struggling, no matter how well you’ve adjusted to this new world. What Vault-Tec did to your family and to all their victims is reprehensible. Should you join the Brotherhood of Steel, you’ll have access to advanced technology and resources not found in the wastelands. You’ll have a family of bond and steel ready and willing to fight for you. And I promise you -- right here, right now -- to assist you in whatever way I can in your search for your son and brother. And I never go back on my promises.”

Claire was drawn in by the pure sincerity in Danse’s dark brown eyes. But for one moment, all she could think about was the synth she escorted to Safehouse Ticonderoga. It didn’t matter to the Brotherhood of Steel if a synth was made of all metal or skin and bones: they were considered a dangerous weapon created by the Institute. If a Brotherhood soldier like Danse and Rhys knew about H2-22’s real identity, they would’ve killed him.

“I… I should to talk this over with Deacon.” It was the best answer Claire could give. “We’ve been traveling together for a while now and it feels wrong to make any decisions without talking to him first.”

Danse couldn’t hide his disappointment. It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but he was grateful it wasn’t a definite rejection. He gave Claire an understanding nod and told her, “Take all the time you need.”

They sat together for a few more minutes, drinking their beers and idly chatting. Danse had many questions he wanted to ask Claire, about life before the Great War. But not tonight. He knew her emotions were still raw, barely hidden behind her soft smile as she talked about the snowman Dogmeat destroyed earlier that afternoon.

… How she could smile at all, Danse didn’t know. Except that it was possible Claire was one of the strongest people he’d ever met.

**Author's Note:**

> \+ Hope you enjoyed my first Fallout fic!
> 
> \+ The empty cryo pod supposedly belonged to someone who didn't make it into Vault 111 in time, but to me, it always felt like a plot twist or a back story Bethesda ended up dropping. So that's my divergence from the canon. Is Claire's brother still alive, or was he killed, too? *shrugs her shoulders and makes an "I don't know" noise.*


End file.
